With a careful tug, she released the cord from his phone. As she did so, it came to life, the screen full of text messages. She ignored these, but noted the time: 3:06 a.m. Feeling more and more guilty for messing with his things without permission, she went to plug in her phone when his screen lit up with an incoming call.
The image of the caller filled the screen. At first, Cassidy didn’t trust her eyes; she should have taken the time to remove her contact lenses before falling asleep, but she had been so content, lazy almost, and hadn’t wanted to disrupt the enchantment of letting sleep come leisurely, sweetly, in Mel’s arms. So when the recognition came, it felt like it happened in slow motion.
It was Reeve’s neighbor. The name JUNO flashed below his image.
Cassidy felt a strange sense of unease. Her logical brain went right to work, trying to find a solution. Did he work for Mel at Crazy Mike’s, and something was wrong? A fire? Was someone hurt?
But Cassidy had never seen Juno at Crazy Mike’s. Could the two of them be surf buddies? That’s probably it, Cassidy decided. Maybe they were supposed to go surfing this morning, and he’s calling to wake him up, or to change the plan. Something about that didn’t sit right, though. Only fanatical surfers got up at three a.m. She didn’t think Mel was the fanatical kind.
Her curiosity in charge now, she picked up Mel’s phone again. Juno’s call ended without a message. She scanned the previews of the text messages, all from different no-name phone numbers. They were written in some strange code, like E36 2,200, A91 1800. Another no-name number’s text message read: New photos operational.
Cassidy lowered herself to the stool, and tried to organize her thoughts. Just because Mel knew Juno didn’t mean something was wrong. It was a small town. Mel was a business owner, he probably knew everyone. Then, she remembered the dreadlocked drummer at the apartment. He’s a bad man, the drummer had said. People coming and going at all hours of the day and night. So if the police had really come to arrest him, why was he calling Mel? To ask him to bail him out?
Cassidy was relieved to have found an answer. Of course, that was it. Mel was the kind of guy who would bail out a kid in trouble.
She plugged in her phone then tried to weave her laptop cord into the hole in the back of the desk so she could plug it into the floor. That’s when she noticed the camera. The message flashed into her mind: New photos operational. She remembered the bird book and binoculars on the deck’s table. Maybe Mel was some kind of nature photographer.
A seed of doubt had crept into her mind. She tried to ignore it, telling herself that she was being ridiculous.
The battle between her fingers and her mind went on for what felt like minutes. Don’t, a voice inside her head blared, but her fingers were faster. She pressed the home button and the small screen lit up. She took a long, steadying breath and pushed the back arrow. Immediately, she wished she hadn’t.
It was a girl. Her brown eyes were hollow and her small face was so devoid of emotion that she could have been a statue. Her long hair flowed down her back, and she wore earrings, little silver balls.
Unable to stop herself, Cassidy clicked the back arrow again. It was another girl—similar in age, sitting in a chair, the background dark and empty, her eyes glancing off to the side, as if watching someone. Her white shirt had a curved collar, the kind on a school uniform.
Cassidy put the camera back, her fingers shaking. Carefully she unplugged and replugged everything, trying to remember exactly where each device had been, then rolled the desktop down, inch by slow inch. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt her ears, and a nauseous churning in her gut told her she would soon be sick. She hurried back across the floor, her backpack and strewn things resembling the carcass of an eviscerated animal. Quickly she stuffed her things back inside, separating out the items she would need: hiking boots, socks, long pants. There was only one thought in her mind: Run.
Twenty-Two
She had pulled on her underwear, a sports bra, and a T-shirt when the floor above her creaked. Carefully, she turned around, her eyes fixed on the stairway. Another gust moved the treehouse. She waited through another eternal moment and then, not hearing any more sounds from above, slipped on her socks and pants, both so grubby from fieldwork they could have stood on their own, and tied her hiking boots.
“Cassidy?” Mel said, coming down the stairs in a pair of pajama-like pants.
Cassidy froze.
“I thought I heard something,” Mel said, rubbing his face and squinting. “What time is it?”
“Early,” Cassidy said, swallowing the still-burning bile in her throat.
He came to stand in front of her. “What’s wrong?” He looked so genuinely puzzled that she had a moment of doubt. And she so wanted to give in to that doubt. How could this man, this kind, thoughtful man, who seemed to know what she needed before she even knew it herself, who had rescued her from loneliness, from herself, not be real?
Cassidy tried to speak but nothing came. It was like the words were at the bottom of a well.
He noticed her outfit, then, and his compassionate look changed. “What’s going on?”
Cassidy forced her mind to work. Think. “My flight,” she stammered. “I have to get there early, and I didn’t want to wake you up.”
Mel seemed to think on this for a moment.
Cassidy swallowed.
His eyes did a quick flash to the desk and back to her. “What have you been doing?” Mel said, all kindness in his voice gone.
“Me?” she
